Meant to Be Broken
by Toodleoo
Summary: Percy likes following rules, but Hermione's found one she'd like them to break—together.
_Hello, all!_

 _I'm not sure if anyone wants to read a little ditty about Hermione and Percy, but if so..._

* * *

Percival Ignatius Weasley was a stickler for rules.

Hermione _knew_ this, of course. She'd known it ever since she was a first year at Hogwarts. As a house prefect, he charmed everyone's shoes to walk up to their dormitories when they left them in the common room. The passwords he picked cycled through the alphabet, letter by letter. He even waited outside the library doors on the odd mornings when Madame Pince opened up early.

She knew this peculiar fact about Percy because—unsurprisingly—she was the only other Gryffindor who showed up before breakfast to study. When Pince was feeling lenient during those last precious weeks before exams, Hermione and roughly half the Ravenclaw students burst in as soon as Madame Pince allowed it. Percy, on the other hand, seemed to actively disapprove. He strode in at eight o'clock on the dot, taking his seat at the table by the east-facing window.

Methodical in his movements, he always nodded at Hermione as he passed her, his expression a mixture of support and disapprobation. While it was clear that he approved of her revision habits, he did not believe she or any other student had the right to be anywhere before the official timing said so.

* * *

When she reconnected with Percy after the war, she assumed that he would have loosened up a bit. Now twenty-six years old, he had filled out much like his older brothers had. Underneath the horn-rimmed glasses and the neatly pressed shirt, Percy had strong arms like Charlie and defined shoulders like Bill. Hermione wondered to herself if he had grown more like them in other ways, too. More light-hearted? More flexible, perhaps?

Not so.

No, he still valued all regulations imposed for the social order.

In their shared office at the Ministry of Magic, Percy had seniority over her by six months, two weeks, and four days. As a result, he felt it his duty to show her the ropes.

Their first week, Percy scheduled fifteen minutes after lunch each day to go over the protocol guide. 1:00 P.M. to 1:15 P.M., on the dot.

Hermione initially protested, demanding that she be free to take the damn binder home with her so she wouldn't have to waste any time at work on something so mundane.

But _no_ , Percy had insisted. The Ministry Handbook was precious, and there was only one copy, and what if Hermione had questions? She would need someone with the authority to answer them.

Authority, her _arse_.

She wanted to hex his bollocks off.

* * *

On Monday, she was supposed to learn the chain of command in all the departments in the Ministry. He pulled her chair over next to his, and their ten minutes were spent huddled over the book on his desk.

What she actually learned was that Percy was still a pompous arse, although his breath was minty fresh after a post-lunch brushing. She detected a wintergreen puff with each aspirated consonant. She also noticed that every single object on his desk was placed along perpendicular planes and that even his pen cup was square.

Tuesday was set aside for an introduction to language charms. Since their office dealt with international magical cooperation, they both had to use the same standard translation spells for all of their letters to dignitaries abroad.

Although she was already familiar with Percy's linguistics charms, Hermione found it impossible to stop staring at him as he formed words in different languages. His tongue curled suggestively around words in Russian, and his lips puckered _just so_ when he spoke Portuguese.

He had such an expressive mouth.

She dearly hoped he hadn't noticed her distraction.

On Wednesday, she was to study the exit maps and practice emergency fire and invasion drills with Percy by her side. After bribing Herbert from the Misuse of Magic Office to set off an invasion alarm for practice, Percy dragged Hermione into the broom closet on the third floor while they waited out the required five minutes in silence.

When Hermione tried to tell him, roughly two minutes in, that they could probably leave early, Percy's hand clamped down firmly over her mouth. He held her there, tucked into his side where she could smell his woodsy cologne and feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against her body.

She froze in place.

It had far too long since a man had held her.

They stayed there, pressed together, until his wand buzzed to say that the time was up.

She walked out of that closet more than a little light-headed, but Percy acted as though nothing at all had happened.

And she supposed… that it hadn't.

 _Had it?_

Thursday was for first aid. At this point, Hermione was starting to lose it. She found herself skimming ahead in the reading, searching for the place where she would get to… er… _have_ _to_ perform chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on her colleague.

Percy served as the test subject. Hermione knelt beside him on the floor, hands poised above his sternum before pressing down in a precise rhythm. When he deemed her successful, she moved closer for the next step, laying one hand on his chest and pinching his nose with her free fingers.

It was a nice nose.

Truthfully, everything about him was nice. He had less in the way of freckles than the twins or Ron, and his eyes were a more intense shade of blue than any of the rest of siblings. That intensity? It spoke to her, as like calls to like. Percy might be a tight arse, but Hermione admired his dedication to the people around him and to his responsibilities. It was the same thing she recognized in herself.

In the tailored grey trousers he often wore, she also got the opportunity to admire his tight arse.

Her task now, though, was to keep him breathing in the case of some medical crisis. And he was her co-worker and the older brother of a boy she'd once kissed, so that made him off limits.

She leaned down, covering his lips with hers.

She breathed in.

And out.

In.

Out.

Before she had time to register what was happening, Percy had slipped his tongue just inside her mouth.

It was a rather fine tongue.

She opened her mouth to him then, letting him explore her at will, his tongue gently inviting hers to join him.

He _tasted_ of mint, too. And determination, if such a thing were possible.

In their frenzy, Percy grasped her by the arms and rolled them over. His self-assurance—which had sometimes driven her crazy—now drove her _wild_. There was an arrogance to everything he did, whether it was forcing her to read an old-fashioned book of rules or pinning her wrists to the ground as he kissed the breath from her lungs.

Had anyone suggested that Hermione would find herself rolling around on the office carpeting with the prim and proper Percy Weasley, she would have laughed them out of the room.

But here she was, and here _they_ were, and it felt right.

Almost as abruptly as it began, Percy released her wrists and leaped to his feet. He adjusted his glasses and rubbed his lips, now red and swollen from her kisses.

Ever the gentleman, he offered her his hand, pulling her to stand. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and sat behind his desk.

"1:23," he said, shuffling through a stack of folders on his desk. He didn't make eye contact with her. "We're behind schedule. Have you begun on the letters to the Minister in Burundi, Miss Granger?"

Convinced that she would have to be the one to say something, Hermione walked over to him and laid her hand on his forearm. "No one needs to know. That is, if you'd rather pretend that this never happened, we can do that. I know this,"—she gestured between the two of them—"could complicates things."

Whipping around in his chair, Percy's expression was one of unguarded disapproval.

He nodded.

And Hermione felt her chest collapsing in on itself, knowing that she'd lost out on this chance. It wasn't as though she and Percy _were_ anything yet, but they had all the possibility of something more, and now it was gone.

Fucking _rules._

She held her head up high, determined to keep her composure, and she lost herself in translation for the remainder of the work day.

Friday's lunchtime session? Apparently, Percy had set Friday aside as Human Resources day. When she sat beside him at 1:00, he handed her a quill and a form titled 'Informal Relations Declaration.'

She skimmed it over, reading through the stuffy language: nature of relationship, date begun, commitment to work, et cetera.

She eyed him warily. Was this really what she thought it was? It looked like the kind of form you filled out when you worked with someone you were dating.

Hadn't he rejected her yesterday?

"I'm going to ask you to dinner with me tonight," Percy stated, tapping the paper one long finger as he directed her attention to the page, "so I think we need to take care of this first."

Hermione smiled.

She didn't know Percy could _blush._

It was sweet, seeing him flustered.

"I'm going to accept your invitation," Hermione said, "so I guess I had better sign."

He smiled, and his whole body suffused with happiness, but Hermione couldn't stop herself as she teased the man a little. After all, she'd spent the last twenty-four hours disappointed, while Percy had spent the time planning on asking her out. He deserved to sweat a little bit. "You know," she said, her words as demure as she could muster them, "my mother always raised me to believe that a lady doesn't kiss until the third date. It's a rule, Percy."

Percy's eyes widened for a moment.

"You _are_ a lady."

"That I am."

Then, one hand wrapping around her waist, he leaned in close to whisper into her ear. "I think some rules are meant to be _broken_ , Hermione."

* * *

 _Fin._


End file.
